Torture
by ice shredder
Summary: Dean learns the hard way from Azazel, that family isn't always everything. Set during "Devil's Trap." T for safety. One-shot.


Title: Torture

Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.

Spoilers: Heavy "Devil's Trap."

Summary: Dean learns the hard way from Azazel that family isn't always everything.

Torture

"_You fight, and fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you. Not like you need them."_ The monster that is my dad but not my dad taunts spitefully.

I know it's the truth.

This is how it feels to be Dean Winchester right now:

Pinned.

Helpless.

I'm pressed against cold, unyielding walls of stone face to face with the nemesis that me and my family have been hunting my entire life. I instinctively glance over to see Sam in the same position on the opposite wall, for the moment unharmed. My heart is pounding like a trip-hammer out of control, yet my face is carved in stone for all the expression I would betray. I refuse to give the monster that destroyed my childhood the satisfaction of seeing fear in my eyes.

Trapped.

Unable to move even the slightest millimeter I can do nothing but watch and listen to the demon jonzing Sam, trying to trip his mental trigger, growing angrier with every biting jibe. Sam is less composed than I; there's stark, naked grief in his broken eyes fear and rage intermixed in his voice. _"Why?" "I want to know why!"_ he demands of the demon referring to his girlfriend's violent, fiery demise. His tone is harsh and grating, just on the verge of a complete emotional breakdown. My heart clenches with pain and I feel a cold, powerful fury course through my veins. I want to comfort my little brother, soothe his distress but I can't with what seems to be the weight of the planet upon my body. _Easy Sammy, don't let him get to you. It's messing with your head. Be strong, I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you._

Brave thoughts. What I wouldn't give to be a telepath right about now, give these thoughts to Sam so he might take heart, to reassure him that he isn't alone.

Wishful thinking.

I might as well have asked for my father's approval.

The taunts and verbal slaps are getting worse. Never in my darkest nightmares could I imagine this psychological battle, relentlessly battering my carefully constructed walls into the ground, is coming from the man I have blindly obeyed and followed since boyhood.

Unquestioningly.

This hurts worse than him not harping on the wasted bullet does.

One shocking piece of news I receive via "dad" is that Sammy was ring hunting for Jessica a few weeks before her death. I learn he was going to propose to her. My whole world shifts on its axis as I try to process this new information wondering why Sam didn't tell me about this before. I feel something—cold trickle through my veins as I wonder how much this thing knows about me and my family.

"_You're my brother and I'd die for I, but there are some things I need to keep to myself," _I recall Sam saying not too long ago in the Impala driving to another town after vanquishing a violent, elusive Bloody Mary.

This isn't happening. I'm not just hearing what I think I heard. Sam _proposing_, about to get married actually going to have a family, a chance for "normalcy"?

Or as close to "normal" as someone like him could get. Finally, I begin to understand why Sam, like dad pursues the single-minded desire for revenge. I begin to see where Sam stands.

Well, up against the wall anyway. _Metaphorically speaking _is my slightly tinged, acidic, sarcastic thought.

Then things _really_ start to get interesting.

Dad/Demon upped the ante of its mental and verbal attacks till I feel my emotional control is starting to reach the breaking point. Foreign emotions slither through cracks that are rapidly growing into full-fledged ruptures along the already fragile shell of my mind. It's becoming increasingly difficult to contain the homicidal, berserker rage and paralyzing fear from consuming my mind entirely. Familiar brown eyes are glazed over with an occultic yellow-orange like cauldrons of flame stare mere inches into hazel orbs. I'm struggling to keep a cool head as I are ravaged with the heart-rending revelation of my family not needing I, as I so desperately need them. It's taking my entire hunter training just to maintain control. All the while Sam is looking over with concern not for himself but for me, but my attention is completely focused into salvaging what mental control that is left to I. The demon points out that Meg was his "daughter" and the man I shot earlier in the alley, Brian, was his "son." _"I bet you're real proud of I kids too. Oh wait I forgot. I wasted them,"_ I reply with a hint of edge in my tone born of desperation not of calm but fear of losing control. I manage a tiny smirk of contempt to complement the remark.

And _that_, as I soon learn, is a big mistake.

In less than it takes me to blink the situation morphs from bad to nightmarish.

Standing less than a few feet from me is my "dad," fiery orbs like windows into Hell itself, furrow in concentration. What happens next is beyond comprehension.

A sickly wet tearing sound is heard. I look down—and gasp in horror.

Crimson streams pour down the front of my shirt.

Blood.

_It's my blood!_

More to the point, the arteries connecting my heart are being ripped from the inside out with invisible claws.

"_Dean!"_ Sam's anguished cry slices through increasingly intense waves of pain.

Too late I see my opponent's strategy. The demon is cutting the heart out of my body. By my father's own hand.

It's the worst death the demon can arrange for me.

Blood is flowing faster, dark crimson that is my lifeblood is staining my shirt. _God, no!_ _It can't end like this...it's not right!_ Excruciating pain erupts inside my chest like streams of molten lava. Gritting my teeth in agony, I force myself to look into the unearthly yellow tinged orange eyes unfaltering and do the unthinkable.

I beg for my life.

I desperately need to reach my father. For Sam's sake. And for my own. _"Don't let it kill me." "Dad, please!"_ By now blood is coming up my throat to spill over my lower lip.

Pain now. White hot. Soothing numbness of unconsciousness beckons, but I fight it with every last ounce of willpower. If I pass out here I might never wake up again.

"_Stop,"_ I dimly hear Dad say, barely see the reflections of lava shiver then go out as he manages to regain control of himself, _"Stop it."_ A single crimson droplet falls from the end of my lip to splash onto the ground. Barely hanging on to consciousness I inhale sharply as the hold on me and Sam is released and I fall heavily to the unforgiving wooden boards, emitting a sharp cry of pain. Phasing in and out of consciousness, I hear quick steps then Sam is kneeling in front of my bloody form fretting over the amount of lost blood. I can't remember such caring before in my entire life. Or love.

Thank God Sammy's with me. Real nice to know..._someone_ in this screwed up world cares.

_He_ won't let me die.

**end**


End file.
